


Something Like the Moon

by wynnebat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Creature Stiles, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Prophecy, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3978829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world of princes, faeries, and prophesies, Stiles just wants a moment of peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Like the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Er, obviously faeries have fangs and pointed ears. Yup. Just go with it.

Stiles had always been fond of the winter solstice. Not only was it the longest night of the year, stretching throughout almost the entire moonspin, but it was the most magical. A charge of magic hung in the air, making him feel invincible as the night stretched on and on. For a faerie like himself, this was the best time to be alive.

And for his best friend, crown prince of the Called Lands, fully human like few people Stiles knew, it was the worst. "It's like the moon's glaring at me," Scott said, scowling up at the glowing object in question.

Stiles almost choked on the cherries he was eating as he threw his head back, but he could still appreciate the almost blinding light of the moon. Some magicals died on these midwinter nights, called by the moon's magic into the bottoms of oceans or the middle of forests, finding themselves enchanted and unable to look away. He could barely imagine the fact that as a human, Scott couldn't feel the moon's pull—that he was even repulsed by it. After savoring the light and another cherry, Stiles replied, "It probably hates your hair."

"My hair looks fine," Scott replied, but because Allison was somewhere in the large courtyard, his hands went up to make sure there weren't any flyaway strands or that his circlet wasn't hanging off his ear. Stiles entertained himself by blowing a leaf into Scott's hair, but his best friend knew him far too well to not notice. Once satisfied, Scott asked, "What are you doing all the way out here, anyway?"

He'd only joined Stiles a moment ago, in the far corner of the courtyard where Stiles had found himself a couple hours into the midwinter celebration. Most of the time, Stiles enjoyed parties; he had a fondness for mead, the castle bards sang a spectacular version of Oh Lydia, and his entire social circle was scattered across the grounds. But sometimes, the solstice's magic hung too heavy on his skin, and Stiles wanted to escape the crowds like he couldn't escape the moon.

But a lesser, if still very satisfying reason was, "It's the best place to admire Lord Hale's marvelous ass."

Scott choked, looking around until he noticed they were a courtyard's length away and almost perfectly perpendicular to the visiting adviser of the neighboring ruler, Queen Talia Hale. From this long of a distance, Scott's human eyes would falter, but the moon only enhanced Stiles' senses.

It was the first time in a very long time that the Hales had sent a blood relative instead of a representative, and the first time Stiles' eyes could properly linger on this particular Hale's fitted trousers.

"You can't," Scott hissed. "That's _Peter Hale_."

Stiles raised an eyebrow.

"He's my archenemy," Scott reminded. "He's going to steal away something precious to me. It's _foretold_."

Stiles' eyes returned back to Lord Hale, but he couldn't appreciate him as lasciviously as he had before. Prophesies were sticky things, and now that he thought about it, Scott's was abundantly clear that Peter Hale would bring no good news. But, "Just because he's a future kleptomaniac doesn't mean I can't appreciate his assets. Besides, your parents had something like that, and the terrible, evil thing your dad would do to your mom was just spilling wine in her cauldron the day they met."

"It almost killed them both."

"Details, details," Stiles said with a wave of his hand. "They're both fine now." They weren't in love, per se, and fine wasn't the best descriptor of the jerk who was King Rafael McCall, but it wasn't like Stiles had love on his mind. "And it's not like you're doing anything about it. Trigger the prophesy or something. Give him something to steal."

"I don't think it works like that," Scott replied, sighing.

Stiles wouldn't know; as a faerie, he didn't have a fate, and didn't have to be concerned over the path of his lifeline as much as humans were concerned about theirs. That wasn't to say he couldn't play a role in others' fates—Stiles had enjoyed bringing Scott and Allison together—but his faerie blood hid his fate from most, and most definitely from himself.

He was about ask for the details of Scott's prophesy, since it had never mattered enough for him to ask before, when a flaming arrow shot past them. Allison chased after it, running swiftly even in her evening gown. "My apologies!" she yelled as she passed by.

"Are you sure it's not Allison who'll steal something from you? Maybe your eyebrows?" Stiles asked. It wouldn't be the first time; for some reason, the Argent royal family was very attached to fire and arrows, and Allison enjoyed combining them.

Scott was smitten, though, and replied, "She can have them."

With a fast goodbye, Scott vanished to help her find her arrow, leaving Stiles alone once again. Stiles hoped that maybe, a jaunt through the woods would inspire Scott to finally bare his heart to the girl he'd been in love with for years, but it was likely too much to hope for. Even on a night such as this, true love had a way of never going smoothly.

Neither had his own infatuation worked out, Stiles thought, glancing at the spot Lord Hale had vacated sometime during his and Scott's conversation. Stiles hadn't lied; he'd felt strangely enticed by Lord Hale the entire evening, and it wasn't only because of his attractiveness. There was something about his mysterious presence in the McCall castle that called to him.

He was curious enough to decide to casually seek the Hale out, but as he noticed a figure coming closer from the dance floor, he was glad to stay put. Lord Hale crossed the lawn at a slow enough pace for Stiles' hooded eyes to linger on his powerful stride. As Lord Hale came closer, his form becoming illuminated by the moonlight instead of the multicolored festive lights, Stiles noticed a ring of power on his left hand, a clearly ornate dagger sheathed on his waist (barbarians, King Rafael called the Hales, but Stiles had always wondered if he'd only been jealous of their weaponsmithing), and a faint glow around his body that only a faerie such as he could see, one that symbolized his prophesy had not yet been fulfilled.

"Such poor form of the next generation of royalty to leave without proper chaperones," Lord Hale said once he came within speaking distance. But his eyes didn't waver from Stiles', and he didn't bother continuing into the forest.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I think I saw a maid go after them," he said easily. "Dark hair, dark clothes, you likely just missed her in the dark." This close, it was much easier to see the amusement on Lord Hale's face at Stiles' blatant lie. It was familiar. Strangely familiar, when taking account their lack of proper introductions; Stiles wasn't a member of the royal family, no matter how close his friendship with its prince was, and there was no reason for a speck of memory to arise as he stared at Lord Hale. "I know you," Stiles realized aloud. He snapped his fingers as he tried to jog his memory, a blast of blue sparks unconsciously flowing from his nails. "You attended Scott's sixth birthday party." It had been over a decade ago, and Peter's hair had been longer, his manners less formal. With a delighted grin, Stiles added, "You taught me to count cards. The whole court despaired over it for years."

Peter's eyes widened momentarily. "You were a young slip of a thing, back then. I shudder to think of what I unleashed."

"Mass chaos. The nobles deserved it, though, and I managed to fund my entire adulthood quest with my winnings."

It had been a blast: just him and Scott and their horses, making their way across the world in search of a duty that would lead them into adulthood. On the way, they were hounded by the McCall royal guards (and King Rafael still hadn't forgiven him for stealing Scott away during the night, even if the theft had been entirely willing on Scott's part), seduced by princesses of faraway lands (although, really, all Allison had needed to do was look in Scott's direction for him to fall in love), and greeted by strange and terrifying and amazing things. They only came back when they destroyed the last of the faerie slave collars. Stiles had even received a commendation from his hard to please race for the deed, though the knowledge that no one would be able to slip one around his neck had been enough for him.

"And with that, you're a man grown. You've done well for yourself, Wlodzimierz Stilinski—the crown prince's closest companion, the top student at your capitol's university..."

Stiles' heart skipped a beat, but he still made a face at the name behind the compliments. "If you know that much, you know I hate my name."

"Stiles, then. You've grown in magic, too."

Peter was terribly suspicious, Stiles knew, being well-versed in self-serving flattery after being friends with Scott for so many years. But that was alright; whatever Peter wanted, Stiles was confident enough to play the game. "It comes with the fangs and pointed ears."

Peter chuckled, but shook his head. "You've gone further than your blood foretells."

"You're a bit of a stalker, aren't you," Stiles replied. He was a little flattered to be stalked, though he knew it was mostly his interest in Peter making his decisions.

"I'm simply observant." And oh, Stiles enjoyed the way Peter's eyes were observing him now. "I doubt you need a reminder of who I am, either."

"Lord Peter Hale. The castle's been abuzz about you. You're not planning to steal Scott's crown, are you?"

"I have another fate, you know," Peter reminded. And, his voice a touch lower than before, smooth and welcoming like the most wonderful of traps, he added, "And there are better things to steal."

Stiles _wanted_. He bit his lip in hopes of killing the feeling. One of the aforementioned fangs slipped out, and he was gratified to see that Peter's interest didn't wane at the sight of his lack of humanity. Some people were strange that way, despite the fact that their world had more monsters than humans. There was even a rumor circling around the Hale line, that their blood wasn't as pure as it could be, but there had never been any confirmation. They were still human—there was no mistaking the aura of an unfilled prophesy around Peter, and only humans had the curse and blessing of knowing their fates—but Stiles had no trouble believing there was something extra in the man's veins.

Caught up in his own arousal, Stiles wasn't as careful as he could've been, and his fang caught on the delicate skin of his lip. He cursed, wiping the blood away with his thumb. It was a brilliant way to ruin the moment.

But instead of laughing, Peter said, "Allow me."

His hand was already halfway to Stiles' face when Stiles consented, and he touched the face of his ring to Stiles' lip with surprising gentleness. The blood-red stone at the center of the ring shone with an eerie light, waves of magic pouring out and coating Stiles' lip. The healing magic itself felt invasive and slightly irritating, but Stiles was still charmed by the fact that Peter would use his ring of power's limited magical storage for something as simple as this. Stiles called out to his own magic and let it slip in to replace the magic lost, just to be polite. (And maybe, to be able to track Peter's movements, later, to see why he set off Stiles' mental alarm bells.)

Stiles wondered whose power had been used in the ring; if Peter needed a tool such as this, he didn't have magic of his own. But it didn't matter, not truly, and Stiles' eyes fluttered closed at the weighty heat in Peter's eyes. With his eyes closed, he had no warning when Peter pressed a kiss against Stiles' lips, his mouth meeting both Stiles' skin and the ring. Stiles could only sigh in pleasure and surprise.

As Stiles healed completely, Peter let his hand slide down Stiles' jaw, his hand warm against Stiles' chilled skin, and the ring's magic even warmer. It settled along the back of his neck, but Stiles didn't need Peter's subtle motion to press himself closer, into a proper kiss. He could barely think about the many reasons he shouldn't be doing this: the manipulation, the fact that Peter was technically visiting royalty, the strange magic that surrounded Peter's ring. All he could do was moan weakly as Peter's tongue plundered his mouth, and wrap his arms around Peter's neck in order to press closer. If this was theft, it was Stiles' pleasure to be stolen. _This_ was what he'd wanted, back when he'd first seen Peter from across a crowded courtyard, though he hadn't been able to picture it as well as this.

Eventually, Stiles stepped back, breaking the moment, but his voice was a little breathy as he said, "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure," Peter replied.

Stiles wasn't sure whether they were talking about the kiss or the healing; maybe a bit of both. He wanted to say something silly, like: _I'll leave my door unlocked for you tonight._ Or maybe just, _take me now._

Thankfully, Peter spoke before Stiles could, saying, "I believe it's been too long since the prince was last seen."

It looked like despite Peter's secondary motives, he truly had been interested in what the crown prince was up to. This time, though, safety rather than propriety was the issue. Stiles sighed. It went against all his brotherly instincts to check on Scott and Allison when they could be having a moment like his and Peter's, but Peter was right. There were too many unsavory people invited tonight and Scott's guard must've slipped, because he hadn't seen a single bodyguard in the past hour. That was out of the ordinary—Melissa and Rafael were nothing if not devoted to keeping their son alive and his bodyguards were almost too protective—but not unheard of. It was probably nothing. But he would still make sure.

Stiles turned toward the forest, telling Peter, "I'll find him."

There would never be a day when Stiles couldn't find Scott, and he didn't bother rushing, simply feeling out the direction Scott's aura called him from. It was easier to do with people with unfulfilled prophesies, and Scott's prophecies were brighter that most people's. He glanced at Peter, who was matching his long strides easily, feeling curious. "Before, you said you had another fate. Is it more interesting than stealing something of Scott's?"

"We Hales don't bare our futures quite so easily as McCalls," Peter replied.

Stiles shrugged. "It's going to happen anyway. Why bother trying to conceal it?" Though he knew it wasn't that easy; some futures weren't made to be retold.

"Indeed." Peter's eyes glinted with something like the moon, and he said, "But my fate isn't quite as interesting as your prince's. Just a story of doomed love."

"Oh?" Stiles hoped it wasn't a story of terrible erection problems or anything else that might affect Peter's visit to the McCall palace.

Peter's lip curled up in a half-smile, but there was nothing happy about his words as he said, "I'll make an unforgivable choice, one day, between my kin and the other half of my soul."

Stiles couldn't help but ask, "And you wouldn't go against your kin?"

"My decision was made too long ago to change it," Peter replied, his words softened with a finality that made Stiles wonder exactly what he knew about his fate.

He wanted to ask more, but his thoughts were derailed by a yell of, "Allison!"

It was Scott's voice, and he was terrified. Stiles moved without concern for the area around him or Peter's safety, leaving the older man behind as he broke into a run. The last time he'd heard such fear in Scott's voice, they'd almost been killed by a rogue witch. But as he came close, he saw through a copse of trees that it wasn't a witch this time, nor a cloaked assassin, nor a case of Stiles mistaking a cry of passion for fear; it was only Allison, Scott's beloved, Stiles' friend, a woman with her hand wrapped around Scott's throat as he began to suffocate.

There was a strange magical aura around Allison, making little sense considering that she wasn't a witch, but nothing made sense now. Allison had never raised her hand against them, and now she was choking the man Stiles thought she might've loved—if not as a lover, then as a friend. Stiles ignored it all in favor of running toward Scott as quickly as possible.

But before he could get very far, a haze of red settled around him. For a second, Stiles thought it was only his rage turning his vision murky, until he pressed a hand before him and felt the hum of the edge of a containment barrier. There was only one person who could have erected it, and the red was a familiar shade. Stiles turned around to glare at Peter and the ring on his finger.

"So this was what you wanted from me," he said. He'd just been a distraction. It stung, and the fact that Stiles had enjoyed Peter's company enough to be hurt stung even more.

"Not quite," Peter replied. He walked closer until he stood at the edge of the barrier, almost as close as he'd stood during their kiss. "I don't care about the fate of the prince."

"If you don't care either way, you could just let me out so that I could _save his life_." Stiles glanced back at the scene, and yelled, "Allison! Why are you doing this?"

She had to have heard him, but Allison didn't even turn her head. She was as still as a statue, while Scott's movements, first frenzied, grew weaker.

"She's only doing what her blood compels her to. She's not of her right mind, though that won't matter in a few minutes."

"Let me go, I can save him, dammit—"

"He has time. It'll take longer for him to suffocate completely," Peter said carelessly, as though a person wasn't dying before their eyes. A person Stiles had known his entire life, ever since Scott had stumbled across his faerie ring and made friends with the lonely, motherless child Stiles had been.

"Suffocate a lot of people, do you?" Stiles inquired.

"A few," Peter replied. "They had it coming, though, unlike the two of you."

Stiles swallowed. Death by suffocation had never been one of the ways he'd prefer to die. But he'd spent almost a full minute now trying to break through the binding, and it was only depleting his magic. The only way he'd get out was for Peter to drop it. "What do you want?"

"I want your aid in killing a woman," Peter said, the words coming through as though they pained him. "Kate Argent is the most powerful witch in centuries with an unyielding grudge against my line. I have no doubt this spectacle—" he nodded towards Scott and Allison "—is her doing, though I have no idea why."

"Why me?" If Peter was already this wily with only a spellcaster's limited spells and no source of his own magic, Stiles couldn't see him needing help against just one woman.

"Your magic will be of more use than you know. I can't fight on her level without it; I've tried. She's already killed two of my kin. I won't wait for her to kill more without doing everything in my power to stop her."

Stiles almost felt sorry for the Hales. And then he considered his own situation, and the feeling faded away.

"I want a vow from you," Peter said.

For one long moment, Stiles couldn't speak. He didn't doubt any vow Peter demanded from him would be more binding than any faerie collar Stiles had ever destroyed.

"Your friend is dying," Peter reminded. "On your life: that you will aid me in killing Kate Argent, and that you will never deliberately harm a member of the Hale line."

"I won't agree without a time limit," Stiles said. He didn't have anything to negotiate with.

Peter conceded anyway. "The moment Kate Argent's heart stops beating."

It was clever, encouraging Stiles to focus even more on killing Kate in order to break free of his chains. He could multitask, but he knew his oath would be as powerful as his magic, and it was already too powerful by far. It was made all the more powerful for being an oath to a man whose prophesy bound them, Stiles realized, remembering Peter's choice of words.

Because it would take a faerie much more incompetent than him to fail to notice the aura of a prophecy in motion surrounding Peter and enveloping Stiles into its folds. Faeries weren't immune from featuring in others' prophesies; Stiles couldn't deny that he was the object of Peter's. The one Peter chose to betray, in favor of his family. Fate had declared Stiles the doomed love of this clever, manipulative man, and Stiles ardently wished they could've had different souls. Ones less fit for betrayal, more wholesome.

Even from Peter, this was a cage Stiles would never be able to bear gladly. Nevertheless, Stiles told him, "I'll do it." For Scott, he thought, and spoke the words that would bind him to this promise, in letter and in spirit, with his life on the line.

Peter lifted the barrier as soon as Stiles finished speaking the last word. Stiles practically flew toward Allison, a stunning spell on his breath as he approached. Had she not been blinded by foreign magic, she could've escaped it or fought it, but she fell down easily as the spell caught her in its grasp. Stiles didn't pause to see to her landing, instead grabbing hold of Scott and laying him onto the cold, leaf-strewn ground.

He was alive. That was all Stiles could say in Scott's favor, because it took careful strands of healing magic to even induce his body to start breathing again.

Peter stuck around long enough to see that Scott hadn't died, then said, "I'll meet you outside my rooms in two hours. We'll head out for the Hale lands as quickly as possible."

"What makes you think I'll come?"

"Sticking with me is your best chance of killing Kate. I know you know that—and so does the vow you took."

Stiles' hand clenched uselessly in anger, but he let the feeling strengthen his healing instead of overwhelming him. When he spoke, his voice was strong. "Scott will go to war for this." Despite everything—their separate lives, Scott's love for Allison, their vastly divergent morals—Scott wouldn't leave a stone unturned if Stiles vanished in the middle of the night. "But that's nothing compared to what I'll do to you."

"I wouldn't expect any less, not of you," Peter replied. "But without your power, there would be no Hale kingdom to go to war with."

Peter turned his back on Stiles, and there was no chance that Stiles could stab him in the back, not yet. Stiles watched him leave with a strange nostalgia for the things that had and could've been. As lovers, they might've been something great.

As he waited for his friends to wake up, Stiles wondered if Peter expected Stiles to meet him alone. But Stiles had learned his lesson; he wasn't up to Peter's level yet. To succeed in whatever manipulations and plans Peter had for him, Stiles needed help, and he knew at least one person who'd join him. Scott would slip his guards easily; they wouldn't have any reason to think he'd gone to the Hale kingdom, not at first, and the Hales would deny any accusations of kidnapping with affront. Allison, too. As long as she woke up in her right mind, Stiles was sure she'd want to get her revenge against the woman who'd temporarily made her a puppet. Perhaps Lydia and Jackson would be interested, as well, and Isaac and Kira, and Boyd and Erica.

It would be a proper quest. And, one day, Stiles would take his proper revenge.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Complete; no sequel planned.


End file.
